Ostar, Heretical
by Sword Brethren Caedus
Summary: Civil War rages on Ostar. Wounded, Trapped behind enemy lines, and branded a traitor, Corporal Vanders must decide what true heresy entails. At the same time, Guardsman Reik hopes against hope she can find redemption. (Rated 'T' because Warhammer 40k) (Read and Review, in the Emperor's Name!)
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of the Warhammer 40k universe, save for my original characters.**

* * *

"Corporal! Corporal!" the corpsman's voice cut through the ringing in my ears, muffled. "Stay with me, Corporal!" He slapped my helmet. The sound of lasguns and Hellguns firing, of cries for support, the corpsman, filled the air. There was a tremendous _BOOM_ as an anti-tank round whizzed overhead and impacted the hill behind us. Earth rained down on our platoon. With help from the corpsman, I staggered to my feet.

"Where's my squad?!" I barely hear myself yell, my ears rung so bad.

"On the other side of 4th Squad's Chimera!" Corpsman Avik yelled back, already moving to aid other casualties.

My ears were still ringing as I stumbled my way towards 2nd Squad's position. A lasbolt smacked into the ruined APC next to my head. I flinched, my heeling catching on a dead guardsman as I fought for my balance. Pain beyond belief blossomed in my side as I lost the battle with gravity. Looking down, I saw a slim shard of metal piercing the left side of my gut, blood seeping into my fatigues. My eyes rolled back in my head from the pain…


	2. Chapter I

**I don't own Warhammer 40k, but I do own my own characters, of which I think all of the ones in this story will be original**

* * *

_Lost in darkness, I long to see Your light._

_Remember Your covenant with the peoples of Your Empire_

_That the sun might not set upon us while we hold You in our hearts._

-Imperial Litany

Guardsman Amara Reik felt lost. She'd never wanted to be a soldier. But here she was, a conscript in the 34th Ostaran, wading through the aftermath of the ambush all four platoons of Company C had set. She felt sick. Eyes that stared without sight watched her accusingly as she picked her way through the ruins of a Chimera. She felt like puking. A lasgun discharging snapped her around to find one of her fellow Guardsmen firing at the bodies of the dead.

"Valgus, stop it," she pleaded, "They're already dead, you don't have to shoot them!"

Valgus walked over, frowning. His cold, blue eyes simmered with hatred. "Why not," he asked, "Like you said, they're already dead. They can't feel it. And they deserve it for worshiping that corpse-god of theirs." He actually believed what the separatists preached about the Imperium. He was one of many in the company that actually volunteered for this, a fact they liked to proclaim loudly and as often as possible. With his last statement, he kicked the body lying at their feet, a thin metal rod impaling his abdomen.

A cry of pain from the body followed by a scream from Amara sent Valgus stumbling back a few paces. The man wasn't dead yet. His body shook with pain, and he wouldn't stop moaning, his teeth bared as he clenched them as hard as possible to keep from screaming.

"Medico!" Amara screamed as the memories of her rushed training surfaced through the shock. "Medico!" She knelt beside the injured…he had two stripes painted on his chestpiece, so, a corporal, then, dropping her lasgun. "You're going to be okay," she told him urgently, taking his limp hand in hers, "the medico's on his way." _Think. Think. What were we supposed to do? Keep them talking. Keep them awake. Keep them alive until the medico can get there._ "What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"

The corporal muttered something incoherent, blood beginning to leak from the corner of his mouth.

"Medico!" Amara cried out yet again. She could see Medico Alvar running towards them, but she didn't know if he'd make it.

"Why are you wasting time and resources to save an Imperial?" Valgus sneered, "I'll shoot him, if your goal is just to ease his pain." He raised his lasgun at the wounded man in front of them.

Amara bit her lower lip. What should she do? She was damned already, letting Valgus shoot him would be a small sin to add to her crimes. She was about to stand up and let him, when the corporal looked over at her. The tears in his eyes were probably from the pain, she knew in the back of her mind, but her soul told her he knew what she'd been planning to do. She didn't know what to do.

"No," she said, surprised at the steel in her own voice, "You're not going to shoot him."

Valgus scoffed. "Oh, really? Why not?"

"Be-because…" she began. Medico Alvar looked between the two of them for a moment, then knelt down and began working on the corporal, ignoring them. Amara took a deep breath. "Because it's the right thing to do?" she finished uncertainly. "And-and if _we_ heal him, _we_ save him, he'll-he'll see that you aren't so bad after all," she added quickly, before Valgus shot the Imperial anyway, "He'll join you, fight with you."

Valgus thought about it for a moment. "At the very least, he'll provide some sport should we get bored," he drawled. "Fine, you can have your pet." He stalked off, most likely looking for something else to mutilate.

"Thank you," Reik whispered, not knowing exactly who she was thanking.

"My job is to heal people," her fellow conscript replied, "Every life is worth saving." Amara contemplated the medico's words in silence, watching the wounded corporal mumble fevered apologies to people only he could see.

* * *

Corporal Darrian Vanders' return to consciousness was slow, and painful. It hurt to breathe, and it hurt to move. But damned if he was just going to let a little side-cramp keep him down. He was an Ostaran Marine, for the Emperor's sake! With a growl he tried to sit up.

"Whoa! Hey-hey-hey, take it easy, Astartes," a voice ordered humorously, a hand firmly pressing him back down, "You've got a hole in your abdomen about an inch wide." Darrian looked up to see a young man in Guardsman flak armor smile at him before turning to tend the wound he'd just mentioned. "If it doesn't hurt too much, you think you could tell me your name? I need to test for concussion and cognitive functioning, and my CO won't trust conscripts with specialized equipment."

"Corporal…Darrian Vanders. Three-One. 1st Marines," he managed through clenched teeth. His gut _hurt_. "You?"

"Medico Terrace Alvar. Company C, Third Battalion," the young man said, redressing the wound. So he was just part of the regular Guard. That wasn't a problem, Darrian's company spent more time attached to normal Guard units more than they did their own. But conscription…Ostar's military had never had to resort to that.

"What…regiment?" He didn't miss the thin line the medico pressed his mouth into.

"…the 34th Ostaran."

_Traitor. Heretic._ Darrian's hand reached for his knife without him even thinking about it. Alvar's face fell as he saw the look of revulsion on the corporal's.

"I know that look," he said, his tone weary with regret, "And I know nothing I say will change your mind." He finished the dressing and turned to go back to his squad, circled around a small fire. It was one of four grouped close together. "But I believe that every life is worth saving. Imperial, or Heretic."

Corporal Vanders watched as the traitor medico walked over to the fire, a collapsible mess tin in his hand. _Every life is worth saving. What's that supposed to mean?_ He fell into an uneasy sleep, his question unanswered.

The next few days passed relatively uneventfully. Darrian's only contact with the heretics was when Medico Alvar changed the dressings on his wound. They didn't speak, the medico seemingly having nothing more to say, and the corporal mumbling litanies under his breath, fingering the small Aquila he had threaded onto the chain with his ident tags. He walked with them, a Guardsman Valgus acting as a sentry, should the Marine attempt to make a run for it.

The sound of lasfire and war cries jolted him awake one night. "In the Emperor's name, let none survive!" roared the voice of a Commissar, a bolt pistol in one hand, a chainsword in the other, "Forward, Guardsmen! Forward! For Ostar and Emperor!" Darrian tried to stand, succeeding after a number of attempts that left him breathless. He slowly made his way away from the impromptu camp, using the undergrowth for concealment. He heard a commotion off to the side, and the discharge of a standard lasrifle, turning to see Alvar collapse, his face contorted in pain as he clutched the cauterized remains of his abdomen. Valgus stood over the dying medico, his mouth twisted in a feral snarl. Clutching his side, Darrian moved further into the underbrush as he worked his way closer. Valgus turned away, roaring a challenge to his enemies as he charged into the woods, away from the conflict. A short time passed, and the fight seemed to die down.

A scream sounded nearby as the Commissar dragged a young woman, not a year younger than Darrian, out by short, red-brown hair, her fatigues torn, her face dirty and blood-streaked, a cut on her forehead weeping. She was crying. The Commissar stopped not two feet in front of Darrian's position, brandishing his bolt pistol. "Guardsmen!" he yelled, "To me!"

A moment later, a number of Guardsmen had formed up in front of the Commissar. "Behold the fate of the unguided one!" he yelled.

"No, please, you have to believe me," the girl sobbed, "I'm not a heretic, I was _conscripted_, I never wanted to fight-" The Commissar's only response was to yell all the louder.

"For every soul is drawn towards the beacon of the Master of Mankind!" He pointed the bolt pistol at the guardswoman's head.

Darrian's hands balled into fists. _Every life is worth saving_. The medico's voice echoed in his head. Is this what he meant? The even the heretic deserved a second chance?

"Please," the woman wept, "please, I'm not a heretic."

"Behold the fate of the faithless," the Commissar growled. The female guardsman was crying silently.

_Every life is worth saving. Imperial or heretic._

"For every soul is born to believe."

_Imperial or heretic._

"Burn the witch."

_Every life is worth saving._

"Abhor the Xenos."

_Every life._

"Kill the heretic."

"NO!" Darrian burst from the tree line, covering the distance between him and the Commissar in a blink. Almost at the exact same time, a rage-filled cry arose from behind the guardsmen, who turned to see almost a whole company's worth of heretic guardsmen bearing down on them. Lasfire ripped through the air as the two sides opened fire on each other, the heretics continuing to close with their loyalist brethren, bayonets fixed to the end of their rifles. The Corporal and Commissar made eye contact, one looking confused and hurt, the other, betrayal and hatred. The Commissar glanced at Vander's shoulder patch.

"A Marine…" he hissed, confusion an undertone. Vanders scrambled upright, grabbing the girl and taking off towards where he'd seen them make camp a little distance away. "Traitor!" the Commissar roared after them, "I'll hunt you into the Eye of Terror itself!"

Vanders didn't stop until he reached what had been the medico's camp. He could even see where he'd lain on the ground. He began searching the camp for his equipment. "Grab your gear," he told the girl. "We need to hurry." She nodded once, turning to a small pile that was lying the furthest away from the fire. He found his kit, all of it, intact on the sergeant's pile.

_Guess he wanted it for himself_.

The sound of approaching guardsmen snapped him out of his reverie. "We need to move!"

The guardswoman nodded, her armor bundled in her pack, her lasgun in hand. They ran off into the underbrush, managing to just stay ahead of the loyalists. They stopped when they reached a rocky outcropping that provided some small cover. Darrian's side burned with the exertion. He cast a quick glance at the girl. She looked pale and unsteady.

"You're bleeding," she said, her voice a little slurred, "Oh, Saint Cailan's Hand, you're bleeding."

Darrian patted the bandage, and his hand came away red with blood. "It's not that bad," he said with a hiss. Taking his pack off, he began searching through it, looking for the emergency medkit the company sergeant had all insisted they carry. "What's your name?" he asked as he redressed the wound as best he could. He needed to keep her talking, keep her awake.

_Restore the breathing; stop the bleeding; protect the wound; treat for shock._ His combat first-aid training whispered in the back of his mind. _Treat for shock_. "Hey? You still with me? You took a pretty serious knock there."

She seemed to have a hard time focusing. "Yeah, I guess I did…" She frowned at him as he walked towards her, a (fairly) clean rag in his hand, along with his canteen. "What're you doing?"

"I've got to clean the cut on your forehead," he said calmly, remembering half-forgotten tactical first-aid lessons. "Okay? I need you to hold still."

She shook her head slowly. "You're bleeding," she insisted.

He shook his head as well. "I'll be fine. Your head's bleeding pretty badly, though." He got a small corner of the rag wet, and dabbed at the cut. It wasn't deep, but it was almost as long as his hand. She hissed in pain. "That hurt?"

"Stings," she said. She leaned against the rock she sat in front of, as Darrian squatted in front of her, cleaning the cut. When he finished, he took what little was left of the kit's supplies and bandaged it.

"There, done." He sat back, leaning against his knees. _We're going to have to go back for the Medico's supplies._ He realized, _At least, I am._ "I'm Darrian Vanders," he told the girl, "What's your name?" The irony of his position now as opposed to before didn't escape him.

"Amara Reik," she answered, struggling to stay awake.

"Get some sleep, Amara," Darrian suggested, "Rest will help you heal, okay?"

"M'kay," she muttered, all too willing to follow that order.

Darrian leaned against a boulder and sighed. _What in the Emperor's name am I doing?_

* * *

**So, how did I do? I spent a pretty decent amount of time on this, so if you think I could've done something better, let me know, I'll try to fix it. I kind of want this to be perfect.**

**For Terra's Golden Throne!**


	3. Chapter II

**Note: The universe of Warhammer 40,000 belongs to Games Workshop, and I am not Games Workshop. Unfortunately.**

**I am suffering from Ultra-OCD for this story. (That's my excuse for the big gap between postings.)**

**Beyogi: They're just fed up. But there are Chaos Cultists in this chapter, though I'm planning for them to make only the one appearance. Chaos plays a bigger role in a future story I'm planning, though.**

**Hoplite39: I know, I'm almost regretting Alvar's death. But not really.**

* * *

_"We will push you beyond any suffering you can imagine. You will not give up like lesser men; you will not crack up like lesser men; you will not lose heart in the direst circumstances like lesser men. And you will be the last men standing when the weaklings have opted to do the easy thing and die."_

- Senior Drill Instructor Gunner Sergeant Bryce Selvig, Recruit Training Depot 371, outside Cathida City

Corporal Darrian Vanders' heart stopped. He couldn't find his weapon. He bolted upright, looking around wildly before seeing it lying at his feet, next to his pack. With a sigh of relief, he lay back down. Just in time for his gut to remind him of its inch-wide puncture wound, plus the fact he hadn't really eaten anything for a couple of days.

"Emperor's Piss!" he swore. Loudly.

The female guardsman sat up with a jerk. _What was her name? Amara._ She looked about wildly for a second, her hair a mess, what stuck up out of the bandage around her forehead, anyway. She winced at the light, cupping her hands over her eyes like it gave her a headache. Which she probably had.

"Sorry," he grimaced, more from the volume than the swearing, "Didn't mean to wake you."

"'s okay. My head hurts." That confirmed it. He surprised himself with how much of his first-aid classes he'd remembered. He'd been struggling to stay awake for half of it and given incentive to stay awake next time in the form of doing push-ups while getting yelled at for the other half.

"You've got a concussion," Darrian groaned as he sat up, "At least, I'm pretty sure that's what it is." He picked up the guardswoman's helmet and inspected it for a moment. Did the visor tint? Either way, it would help block a little of the light even if it didn't. "Here, put this on. It should help a bit." After he handed her back her helmet, he went and began to put his own armor on. As he secured it, he began to plan out what they needed to do. They needed medical supplies, ammunition, food, water, or else they were doomed. He offered up a quick prayer that the guardsmen from last night had left the battlefield untouched.

He felt his stomach drop as he remembered the previous night. _Oh, Emperor, what have I done?_ He sat down-more of a collapse, really- by his pack, his helmet in his hand. He'd attacked a Commissar. Over the life of a _heretic_. And now he was helping her, bandaging her wounds, worrying about her safety while he looked for supplies. _Is this how corruption starts? Am I doing the right thing?_

_ Yes._ The thought surprised him. It felt _right_ to help someone. It felt…soothing. Like a wash after a week in the field. It made him feel…clean. He shook his head and stood as fast as his gut would let him.

"I'm going back there," he told Amara, "We need more supplies. With luck, the 7th will have left at least Alvar's pack alone." The lurch in his gut at saying the Medico's name made him frown for a moment. Why did _he_ feel responsible for the conscript's death? Why did he feel _guilty_ about it? His thoughts were interrupted by Amara's reply as she unsteadily stood.

"I'll show you where we hid them. I helped him stash most of his supplies where the others couldn't find them."

Darrian bit his lip. She still seemed a little out of it to him, but she looked a little better. She was standing alright on her own, and the part of her face he could see under the helmet looked less pale than it had before. "We need medical supplies," he said, looking down at the inside of his helmet like the answers would be hidden in the padding, if he just stared hard enough, "Actually, we need just about everything…" With a sigh, he put it on, fiddling with the straps as he walked, his weapon slung over his shoulder. "Let's go, then," he said, when Amara hesitated, "You said you knew where the supplies were buried, right?" With a nod, she picked up her lasgun and pack and followed the Marine back towards the trees.

Amara's head had been spinning a little, but after standing for a minute, and then walking, it had cleared up, mostly. She kept looking over at the Marine nervously. He was a Loyalist, an upstanding Imperial soldier. What was he doing with her? She'd seen all the dirty looks for the few days they'd traveled after the ambush, heard all the mumbled litanies. And yet he'd saved her, bandaged her wounds. And now they were sneaking back to the battleground to loot the fallen, at his suggestion. It seemed a (unfortunately and uncomfortably) normal thing for her, but from a _Marine_? She'd heard about them, everyone on Ostar had. All "Honor, Courage, Commitment."

Stealing laspacks and MREs from corpses didn't seem all that honorable.

_And what you've done is? You killed his platoon_. She glanced over at Darrian, afraid he'd hear her thoughts. They'd stopped for a moment behind a fallen tree near where her company had been camped. _It wasn't my fault. I was just following orders._

"Looks clear," Darrian's whisper made her jump, flooding her system with adrenaline, "Where did Alvar bury the supplies?"

Amara swallowed, her heart still hammering away. "Over-over by the triage area." She crept forward, "Where we put you at night." Darrian nodded.

"Here, you go get them," he ordered, "I'll round up anything else we need."

"Okay," came the reply as Amara moved off. She made her way over to the spot, trying not to look at Alvar's body. When she got there, she dropped her pack and her lasgun, removing a small collapsible shovel instead. As she dug, she calmed down, and her mind began to wander. Was this a chance at redemption? Saving this Marine? Had the Emperor taken pity on her? She bit her lip.

_At least Darrian had_. She'd seen it in his eyes. Pity, and concern. He cared what happened to her. At least, she hoped he did. His eyes were a deep blue, she recalled suddenly, like some of the flowers that had grown outside her home. Her face grew uncomfortably warm as she remembered how close she'd been to saying out loud she liked looking at them. _I need to take a break_.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here, boys." The voice behind her wasn't one she recognized, but the tone sent shivers down her spine. She turned and looked over her shoulder. Five guardsmen stood behind her, chilling grins across their faces. They didn't look like men of the 34th.

"What do you want?" she asked. Their stares answered the question for her, the way they seemed to be undressing her with their eyes.

"We were told we'd experience everything with new senses," one of them said, grinning with ecstasy, "We're just…testing it out."

Her heart lurched into her throat as she realized what had just been said. _Cultists. Chaos Cultists._ _Oh, Saint of Ostar, shield me._ She held her entrenchment tool out like a knife. (Which it almost was, one side had been sharpened to use as an impromptu weapon)

"Oh, come now, don't be like that," their leader chuckled as he stepped toward her. "Think of the _experience_. The _sensation_. Oh, what a beautiful little Rose you'd make for me," he said with a low, possessive growl. He repulsed her.

"Stay back!" she yelled, swinging the shovel. The sharp edge bit into his face, letting loose a wave of blood. He roared in pain and staggered back as the other four leapt forward. She swung it again, clanging it hard against the helmet of one of the others. It fell from her hands as she pushed at them as they reached for her, trying to grab at whatever they could get ahold of.

Darrian smiled wryly at the revelation of the conscripts' hiding place. He'd been practically _sleeping_ on top of those supplies. Not that it would've done him any good at the time, but it was still slightly amusing. He quickly began to strip the packs of the dead heretics of anything useful. It felt a little wrong, but it was equipment they weren't using anymore, and that he and Amara needed.

His head whipped around as he heard a rage-filled roar. _What was that?_

"Stay back!" That was Amara, he was certain. A loud c_lang_ like metal striking metal sounded as Darrian stood and ran for the small clearing that had been the triage area. He entered the clearing, weapon at the ready, to see a guardsman clutching his face, blood leaking through his fingers, as four others tried to grab at Amara's armor, and at Amara. A bloody entrenching tool lay nearby. He fired a quick pair of shots at the furthest guardsman from the melee, he didn't want to hit her. The first shot hit him in the leg, the second burned away his face. One down.

Amara broke one hand free long enough to punch another hard in the face, weakening his grip long enough for her to tackle him, her forearm pressing down on his throat, the other hand reaching for the E-tool. Darrian killed another of the guardsman as he moved to pull Amara off of his partner.

The last of the four tackled Darrian, their helmets clanging together forcefully. He wrapped his fingers around Darrian's throat, choking him. Darrian brought his armored knee up into his opponent's groin, using the softening blow to flip the heretic onto his back. Pulling out his bayonet, he drove it down two-handed at his face. The heretic blocked it with his arms, pushing back. They struggled as such for what seemed like an eternity to Darrian. He pushed harder, forcing the blade closer and closer to the heretic.

The heretic punched Darrian in the side, causing him to drag the point of the bayonet across his face, the edge slicing into the heretic's hand. Fighting the pain, Darrian pulled back on the bayonet and quickly cut the heretic's throat.

He was panting as he stood, his side on fire, looking for his weapon. He turned just to see Amara's E-tool connect with the final guardsman's helmet, sending him sprawling. His helmet fell off and rolled a little ways away.

His face already sheeted with blood, the heretic snarled at Amara as his fingers scrabbled at her armor, trying to gain purchase. She brought her E-tool down on his face like an axe, over and over again, even as his hands fell limply to his sides, his blood flying through the air like scarlet drops of rain.

"Amara!" Darrian called out, but she wasn't listening. "Amara!"

Finally, he grabbed her arm and pulled her off the definitely dead guardsman. "Amara!"

"I had it sorted!" she yelled back, her face contorted in anger for a second before it morphed into a look of almost fearful exhaustion. "Oh, by Cailan, Darrian," she said, relief rolling off her as she nearly collapsed into his chest, "I'm sorry!" Softly, she began to cry.

_What in the Emperor's name?_ Awkwardly, Darrian hugged her. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing. "It's okay," he said, patting her on the back, "It's okay." After a minute, she seemed to get it under control a bit. "Did you find the supplies?" he asked. She nodded, wiping her eyes. "Alright. Let's pack it up, then." He kept his tone even. He wasn't sure what had brought on the tears, but he didn't really want to see it again, mainly because he had no idea how to deal with it.

He noticed Amara purposely positioned herself so she couldn't see the senior cultist as she packed away some of the medical supplies. Darrian was thankful he'd decided to use another guardsman's pack for carrying the majority of the MREs, as their packs were full with ammo, medical supplies, and other standard kit.

"I was thinking…" he started to say. He trailed off, suddenly uncertain if his idea was a good one.

"What?" Amara stopped packing to look at him. Darrian licked his lips. Bad idea, he tasted iron and couldn't help but wince.

"I…I was thinking we should bury Alvar before we leave," he said softly, "He deserves a burial."

"You would do that?" Darrian looked up at her. She looked surprised, a little.

"You don't believe me." For some reason, that hurt him. Amara looked down at her pack.

"I just didn't think an…" she took a deep breath and started again, "I couldn't think of a way to ask you that myself."

Darrian sighed. _I didn't think an Imperial would care_, that's what she'd been about to say. He knew it. "Yeah. I get it." He couldn't help but sound a bit defeated. _Why do I care so much?_

Amara tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear as she focused on finishing packing. Her headache was starting to come back with a vengeance. She hadn't lied, she had been trying to think of a way to broach the subject, but something in her felt ashamed for what she'd almost said. And he knew it, too. That just made her feel worse. Everything seemed too bright. Where was her helmet? She looked around for it, her eyes sliding over the cultist's bodies like they weren't even there. She dragged herself to her feet and grabbed it from where she'd left it next to her lasgun. As she picked up the weapon, she heard Darrian groan as he stood as well.

Later, as the sun was sinking behind the mountains looming over them not-so-far away, Amara threw the last shovelful of dirt on Alvar's grave. They'd picked a spot at the base of a lone tree that stood a little ways out from the surrounding forest.

"What was his name?" Darrian asked from over her shoulder.

"Terrace." She couldn't stop the tears rolling silently down her face. "He was my brother in nearly every sense but blood." A breeze made the leaves whisper above her head. "He was the last thing I had left of home."

Darrian didn't say anything right away, just placed his hand gently on her shoulder for a moment. Reaching into a pouch on his belt, he removed a well-thumbed book, ruggedized for field use. He opened it, flipping through several pages before he found what he'd been looking for.

"Take pity on me, wretched and lost as I am," he read, "and rescue your faithful servant." He blinked rapidly as he prayed for the soul of a medic he never really knew. "Through temptation and horror I have held to my faith as a drowning man grasps at a rock. Judge-"His voice gave out on him, he couldn't finish the litany.

"Judge me not by my weakness," Amara whispered, "Remember not my sins of late."

Darrian put the book away, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "The Emperor…" he coughed to clear his throat. "The Emperor is just and loves just deeds; the upright shall see His face."

Amara didn't say anything. She just turned and walked away, grabbing her pack. Darrian followed after looking at the mountains for a moment.

"Did you really believe that?" Amara's question snapped Darrian back to the present. He looked up at her. They sat across from each other, on opposite sides of a small fire he had built back at their little enclosure of rock.

"I do," he answered. He didn't have to ask what she meant. They stared at each other for a minute across the fire before Darrian stood with a groan. "C'mon, let's take a look at your head." With a nod, Amara unwound the bandage. Carefully, Darrian cleaned it again before wrapping it up with a fresh bandage.

"I can do that myself, you know." She was sounding better and better. That was a good sign, he hoped.

"It's easier if someone else does these kinds of wounds," he replied, "I've had my share of head injuries over the last two years. Trust me." He finished tying it and knelt in front of her, their eyes at even level. Amara had the most captivating eyes he'd ever seen. They were hazel, golden brown, and flecked throughout with yellow. He felt like he could watch those eyes for a millennia. Without thinking, he reached up to rub a spot of-blood, dirt, something-off her cheek.

Amara was tired. So tired. She closed her eyes, and just rested her head against Darrian's hand for a moment. When she opened them again, he still knelt there, his indigo-blue eyes staring back at her, gently searching hers. She found herself drawn to them, almost like she was falling. She could feel her heart beating furiously, like an autogun.

Darrian could feel his heart hammering in his throat. He tucked that stubborn loose strand of hair behind her ear as their faces came closer, their eyes never once leaving each other. The fire _pop_ped loudly behind them, startling the two warriors of the Imperium. As his adrenaline ebbed, Darrian realized what he'd almost done. His face felt like it was burning.

"I'll take the first watch," he said, quickly, ramming his helmet onto his head, "You should get some sleep." _By Cailan and by the Golden Throne what just happened?_ His face still felt hot, even though he wasn't near the fire anymore.

Amara sat there, her face well beyond uncomfortably hot. _What by Holy Cailan's Hand just happened?_ Her face was still burning as she turned away from the fire and she tried to get some sleep.

* * *

**Emperor's Helm, I can be so mean to my characters...**

**We like reviews! They give us ideas and inspiration!**


	4. Chapter III

**I do not own Warhammer 40,000.**

* * *

"_Glory to the first man to die!"_

"_And medals to the one who doesn't!"_

-Sarcastic Ostaran saying, usually when the Commissar is out of hearing

Amara woke slowly. Her head hurt less than it had the day before, but it still hurt. She blinked her eyes as they adjusted to the bright light of the sun. Sitting across the now-dead fire was Darrian, searching the other pack he'd brought with him. He pulled out three MREs and closed the pack back up. With a glance, he threw Amara one of the MREs, setting another carefully between the two of them, and the third he opened himself. She sat up and attacked her own for the only reason anyone attacked a government-issue "meal ready to eat": nothing else in the area was edible.

They ate in awkward silence, the events of last night still embarrassingly memorable. Eventually, though, her curiosity got the better of her. "What's the third one for?" she asked.

Darrian looked down at the recently rehydrated meal in his hands. "In…In case Alvar comes back," he mumbled, quickly shoveling food in his mouth so he didn't have to say anything else.

Amara opened her mouth to ask him to explain, then it came to her. There was a local custom in parts of northern Ostar of setting a place at meals for the departed. It was a way to remember, and a stubborn refusal to admit they were gone for good.

"You're from Estren, aren't you?" Darrian nodded, a little embarrassed. It was strangely hilarious to her. She laughed. "Oh, if my father could see me now," she mused, "I'd never hear the end of it, having to work with a 'Saint-forsaken Northerner'."

Darrian chuckled. "Let me guess, that automatically makes me a heretic?"

Amara smiled sadly. "Yes, he'd be so certain of it…" her voice trailed away as her memories ambushed her. Darrian looked like a little kid who'd just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I'm-I'm sorry," he stammered, "I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," Amara sighed, "I brought it up…" She stared at the MRE for a minute. "I have to ask," she said, "What about your platoon?" She struggled for a way to phrase it. "What if they come back?"

Now it was Darrian's face that looked forlorn. "It'd be easier for them to set a place for me," he stated simply. He reached for the meal. "I'm sorry," he began, "It's a dumb superstition. I'll-"

"No, leave it," Amara blurted. Darrian froze, uncertain. "Just-just in case." She gave him a weak smile. He smiled back, relief hidden in the background.

"Thank you." They finished their meal in a silence only barely less awkward.

Darrian cleared his throat. "So, when you said Alvar was the last thing you had of home…" he began.

"Oh, no, my parents aren't dead," Amara corrected, "I haven't spoken to them since the war began." She frowned at the remains of her meal glumly. "My dad and I didn't exactly see eye-to-eye regarding my response to conscription."

"A real hard-liner, huh?"

"Yeah. You two would actually get along pretty well, I think." She shifted uncomfortably. Talking about her father just reminded her of how hard she'd failed. Failed the Imperium, failed the planet, failed him… "What about your parents?" she asked, eager to move the attention away from her.

Darrian didn't even have to say anything. The look on his face spoke volumes.

"I'm sorry," Amara said, surprised to find she actually meant it, "How did-"

"Shh!" Darrian hissed suddenly, his head twisted over his shoulder, "I thought I heard something." They grabbed their weapons, and Amara moved over behind a rock closer to Darrian. She was about to ask him what he'd heard when her question was answered for her.

"Shut up!" a voice hissed from the other side of the rock, "I know I heard something!" Amara risked peeking over her cover to see a small group of men creeping towards their position through the rocks in the ubiquitous olive-green armor of the Imperial Guard.

"Damn!" she cursed, dropping back down.

"Five," Darrian's voice was even, "Guardsmen. Looks like Bravo Company, 3rd Battalion."

"You know them?"

"Not really. Worked more with Delta." He peeked over the rock again. "I'm going to try talking to them," he whispered.

"Be careful." Amara didn't know why she said it, it just slipped out. Darrian nodded.

* * *

Darrian stood up as he rounded the rock, his weapon held loosely in his hands. "Hey!" he called to the Guardsmen, their backs turned to him. They whirled around, lasguns raised. "Whoa! Friendly!" Darrian held up a hand, taking a step back. They hesitated for a second.

"Identify yourself!" the fireteam leader called out.

"Corporal Darrian Vanders, Three-One Marines." There was a pause before the guardsmen lowered their weapons. He began to walk towards them. "You guys part of a patrol? Where's the rest of your squad?"

"We're spread out over a pretty decent area, Corporal," the fireteam leader replied, "But I'm afraid what we're doing over that area is classified."

"No, I get it, OPSEC, don't wanna risk it." Darrian waved his hand dismissively.

"You a survivor of that ambush-" the Guardsman started to ask, before he really caught sight of the bandage around Darrian's waist. "Wait a minute…" Darrian took a step back. "You're…" the fireteam leader's eye widened. "You're the one from the attack on the heretics! I saw you attack the Commissar!" At that point, Darrian knew he was dead. "Falks! Get on the vox! Tell 'em we found the traitor!"

Darrian cursed, running back to his pack, "Amara, run!" Lasfire melted portions of the rock behind him as the fireteam opened up. His side burned with the exertion as he stopped to grab his pack and helmet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amara disappear into the woods and tore off after her, the guardsmen firing wildly. He heard a tear as something snagged on a thick, low branch, but didn't stop. He caught up to Amara shortly after, and the two of them kept running until they could no longer hear the sounds of lasguns discharging. Eventually, they came to another rock out cropping, closer to the mountains, and a cave. They stopped just inside the tree line, monitoring the area for any sign of hostiles, which, Darrian thought with a grimace, was just about everyone on the planet at the moment.

He shivered slightly. He'd been feeling a little dizzy and nauseous, and it had only gotten worse over the past day or two. He kept pushing, though. He couldn't afford to be weak, not when he had to get back to his unit, explain what had happened, what was going on.

"That rock," he whispered, pointing to one that stood not too far away, but provided good cover, "Move." Amara nodded, gliding into position, weapon at the ready. Darrian's gut flared with sharp pain as he stood, and the simple movement to Amara's position left him out of breath. This was bad. He felt light-headed. His vision swam as he tried to focus on the cave entrance. "Amara…" he managed to say before he collapsed completely.

* * *

Amara was panicking. This wasn't good. Darrian had just collapsed, no warning, just mumbled her name and fell over. As quick as she could, she dragged him into the cave, giving it a quick check to see if anything else was living in it. When she saw Darrian's stomach, she almost collapsed herself. The area around the hole was swollen, and very red. There wasn't much blood, but he'd torn both the bandage and his fatigues on something, and it just revealed the infection in all its fetid glory. Darrian broke into a coughing bout unconsciously, each one expelling just a small amount of some blackish liquid that looked disturbingly like dead blood.

She didn't know what to do. Her rushed first aid hadn't prepared her at all for something like this, and Darrian was unconscious, he couldn't help, either. Amara dug through all the packs, hoping to find something, anything at all, to help. She found rolls of gauze, single-use morphia sharps, which seemed to help Darrian's coughing fits, but nothing else that would've helped. She found a map at the bottom of Darrian's pack, with unnamed positions marked on it. A book that was also tucked in the bottom was the _Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer_, which she'd never seen before. She leafed through it, looking for anything that could give her a clue what to do.

Nothing in it seemed to indicate what she should do, but hand-written above the section entitled _Common Medical Conditions _was a note: _Just use generic counterseptic. Lighter, works just as well._ She set the book down. The one thing they didn't have. Part of her last conversation with Alvar came to mind suddenly.

"_For once, I'm glad we're almost back to the camp,_" he'd admitted.

"_What?!_"

"_I'm just about out of counterseptic. The corporal's wound is barely stable as it is. He needs better facilities and care than I can provide."_

She looked at the map as she repacked everything. On a whim, she figured out what their position was on the map, comparing it to the location of the dots that had probably represented "friendly" forces. One was close. She could go now, and be back within a day. She bit her lip, unsure. Another cough from Darrian, followed by a pained groan made her mind up for her.

She couldn't just let him die. She needed him.

* * *

**I know it's shorter, but I haven't posted for a while, and I wanted to get this up while one or two people still read this... I'll try to update more often.**


End file.
